


The Simplest Fucking Solution (Or Occam's Gun)

by Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Billy Butcher is emotionally unintelligent, Character study???, I Am Sorry, M/M, MAyhaps????, No romance to be found here, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Torturing hughie literally just because, actual fucking suicide, billy pov, but he do be feeling things doe, im not joking - Freeform, just happenings with strange undertones, no beta we die like men, this may be my first multi chapter ting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27006388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount/pseuds/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount
Summary: He and the boys (and the female, in her own way) had spent the last three hours in that basement going round in circles, arguing.The simple facts of the matter was that Hughie was gone, and that Homelander had taken him. Kicking and yelling- but taken all the same.---Hughie's not the same afterwards... Or maybe he is- just worse.Mind the tagsPure, uncut angstRated M for subject matter
Relationships: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell, Hughie Campbell/The Homelander | John
Comments: 45
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ayo idk how to make it do that "1/?" ting instead of "1/1" but yh theres gonna be more chapters

"WHERE IS HE?" Butcher roared at the sky.

He could hear him. He knew he could. If it was Homelander, he could hear him. He could see Frenchie peeking around the corner in the alleyway, wondering if the Great Billy Butcher had lost his mind once and for all.

He almost smirked. No, just finding the simplest fucking solution, as always.

He and The Boys (and The Female, in her own way) had spent the last three hours in that basement going round in circles, arguing.The simple facts of the matter was that Hughie was gone, and that Homelander had taken him. Kicking and yelling- but taken all the same, according to Kimiko. She had tried, but even the she-devil couldn't do anything against the godforsaken power to take flight like a fucking pigeon.

Billy was nervous.

He didn't _think_ he was, but he was truly nervous, on a level he wasn't conscious of.

He wasn't quite sure what he'd do if they didn't find Hughie; or worse, did, but in peices. Scraps.

So he didn't devote any thinking to it. Right now, the objective was to recover Hughie. He would succeed.The penny couldn't land on tails ten times in a row. 

He'd fucking get it right this time. He'd get Hughie back and have him following Billy around like a sorry puppy in no time, right as rain, then he could go back to worrying about more important matters, like getting Becca and himself on a fucking boat to Argentina.

This was just going to be a mini challenge. Like Mario. Or… whateverthefuck. 

"HOMELANDER."

His eyes couldn't track the movement, but in the space of a blink he felt the air rush back unnaturally and a whirl of red, white, blue and golden blonde landed in front of him, wearing that hateful face.

That strange nervousness was smothered by the blinding, constant rage he was accustomed to. It was almost comforting.

"Alright, cunt. Let's get straight to it, no messing about. Where's Hughie?" He said it with a crack of the neck.

Homelander stared. Then mechanically lifted a corner of his mouth into a sneer. God, how Billy wanted to fucking shoot that off of his face. He wanted to poke C4 down his throat and fucking blow him up, guts first. He wanted to knock him unconcious then wake him up through repeated steel toed boots to the face. 

These were the types of thoughts that carried him through daily interactions and, they were barely holding him back now.

For now, he needed to get Hughie.

"Why, William?" Homelander asked, simply. Churning. He made Billy's stomach literally churn.

"Why… what."

"Why not… 'Where's Becca?'" He said the last word in a conspiratory whisper accompanied by wide eyes, that only grew wider still with the look on Billy's face.

"Haha!" He laughed loudly without response from Billy, that canned, all-american bellow. "Not only do you- You know where Becca is! But you haven't fucked off of the continent with her. Which means she  _ dumped  _ you. Dumped! Haha!"

"Where's Hughie?" He asked again, now ready to shoot, wether or not he got a satisfactory answer. Not that it'd work. _Fucking supe_. He can't remember ever having injected so much venom into a thought before.

Homelander let loose a  _ peal  _ of laughter at this. The robotic composure from seconds earlier was nowhere to be seen."Oh my god, this only makes it better. It was only spite, you know. I saw him, remembered you, and saw an opportunity… but I never  _ imagined-  _ wow! Haha! That's good. Golden."

"Ha...Ha...ha."

The laughter trailed off and Homelander wiped a tear from his eyes.

Then it started up again.

"I'm done, you can have him back now, if you want. A few days was enough, I think. Haha! I wouldn't have come if I didn't want to show him to you. But lord! I'm almost sorry for this." 

"Right after you got dumped by Becca." He shook his head wonderously. "Damn! I left him in a container, at the park down there, you'll know the one," he gestured vaguely south. He stepped closer, close enough that Billy could smell him. Homelander smelled like nothing. And Axe Body spray.

The strange nervousness was back, as simply as if it had never disappeared

"I have to tell you…" Homelander whispered theatrically with a hand to his heart. "Actually, no I don't  _ have _ to tell you," he said normally, dropping the hand. "But I  _ really, really want  _ to."

Container park. South. Billy was mentally running through the quickest routes while excercising every ounce of self control he had left to not empty an entire clip into the bastards face in order to hear whatever was so damn important.

" _ Never _ ," he started, "Well, until I knew Hughie's, that is," a baby blue eye winked, "Did I imagine I would ever encounter a tighter pussy than your dear wif-"

Billy's head reared back before his mind could catch up and collided full frontal with Homelander's nose.

Then his mind caught up, and he did end up emptying that clip. The bullets bounced off, each one somehow missing Billy himself, but Homelander's nose was bloody.

Where was the fucking satisfaction? Billy dropped the gun and raised his knee, savagely bringing the heel of his boot down onto the… ground.

Homelander rolled away and was up in a second, holding his nose.

"I'm- you know, I'm almost not mad about that," he says, voice stuffy but somehow chuckling. Then he was gone.

He had Homelanders blood on his forehead. 

Loud ringing in his head that wasn't subsiding. Probably the gun.

That should have felt good. But he felt worse. Anger hatred blood blood blood, he'd have him for that. Billy Butchers gonna have him for that. For everything.  _ Everything. _

_ Everything everything everything everything everything - _

He strode to the van, drove south-

_ everything everything every fucking thing  _

_ \---- _

He definitely knew the fucking one.

In a sea of brown, yellow, blue and green containers, one was obnoxiously decorated in a massive, painted star spangled banner. 

It didn't take long to find. Billy supposed that was the intention. 

He also supposed the others would be following behind soon. MM was probably going to tell him how he should have fucking linked up and yeah, he probably should have. He probably won't accept Billy's honest excuse that he forgot. In the heat of the moment.

He stares at the container, wondering for a second what state he'll find Hughie in and he's perhaps slightly nervous- no. He'll be fine. It might take a while, but Hughie's always fine. A fighter that one. An observer might notice Billy Butcher's adams apple bob as he stares at the brightly coloured container. 

Then he abruptly decides to stop wondering, and smashes the cheap lock on the door with a rock he picks up on the ground.

\----

He'd never seen the bastard naked before. Skinnier than he would have thought. Unless he… no. It's only been a few days. Not enough time to lose weight like that. 

Billy concludes that he'd always been a twiggy cunt, underneath the chinos and buttons. 

"Come on, mate. Can you stand up?" he says to the lump on the floor.There's no response, and Billy can hear his own pulse in his temples.

He bends down and pulls him onto his back. At least his face is fine. But he needs a hospital. Some of the mottled bruising is severe enough to suggest internal bleeding. Not that he's a fucking doctor, but even he can tell he's on the brink of it.

There's immediate recognition in Hughie's eyes, but very little else, and what there is he can't read it. That was never really part of Billy's skillset. Was in Lenny's though. He'd probably know what to say. His Lenny would.

"Alright, Hughie, up we go." He grabs a limp wrist and puts his skinny arm around his neck, hauling him up with another arm holding his torso.

"Up we go," Hughie repeats, quietly.

"What was that?" Bully says conversationally, as they walk- well more like Billy walks, and Hughie stumbles, losing his footing every few steps, resulting in Billy more or less dragging him along. Billy had heard what he had said, but was hoping to prompt some more words from him.

Nothing's forthcoming. 

The Boys are nowhere to be seen, but Billy hadn't really expected them to be right behind him what with what must have seemed like a very vague situation from their point of view. He somewhat wished MM was there. He would know what to say too, and unlike Lenny, he wasn't dead. 

Billy begins to sweat slightly on his brow as he marches Hughie out of the container park, the sound of his own breath almost too loud for him to bear.

Hughie is not usually this silent. Then again, Hughie is usually not the victim of a depraved fucking psychopathic adult baby. Billy's stomach twists slightly, and he absently wonders if that yoghurt he nicked from Frenchie for a rare breakfast had been dodgy after all.

He manages to manhandle Hughie into the passenger seat of the vehicle with attempts to help on Hughies side, lots of mumbled "sorrys"and "thanks". 

Silence falls again when the car starts. 

When Billy's eyes slide impassively towards Hughie, he sees him glaring out of the window, a thumb in his mouth. Not quite in the normal way you might expect to see a toddler doing it, but with the pad of his thumb pressing down on his tongue, fingers curled loosely at his chin. It's strange, that's the only word for it, and Hughie's never looked less like a child.

Butcher eyes slide impassively back to the road.

The second time he looks, he catches him staring at Billy's lap. No, not his lap. The gun on his side.

Billy Butcher shifts uncomfortably. The bastard does look a lot like Lenny. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadistic Bitch is my name, Torturing Characters That Don't Deserve It is my game
> 
> Edit: definitely gonna be at least one more chapter, probably 2


	2. Chapter 2

The kid likes old music videos. Bent towards the 80's. Billy learned a lot about Hughie over those hours in the hospital.

He sat slumped in the chair opposite Hughie's bed, wishing for even just one of the Boys to track them down and turn up so he could fucking leave. Not that he hated being there, just that- yeah, he hated being there.

Had nothing against hospitals, did have something against babysitting a grown man when he had other business to be getting on with, starting with a capital B. That discomfort from the car journey hadn't entirely disappeared either.

Few words had been spoken between the two of them in the entire time that Hughie was processed, looked at and tested. There hadn't been any internal bleeding, but he was immediately put on a drip and given an actual handful of pills. Anti-virals. 

He'd swallowed them without comment, but not without shooting Billy a look that said, _aw heck, what can ya do._ Billy hadn't found it funny.

For the rest of the time, Hughie had sat up in the bed, earbuds in, staring intently at the screen of Billy's phone like it held the secrets of the universe. Again, it was strange how the action wouldn't look out of place on a kid given a device to shut them up for a few hours, but Hughie looked _old._ It was disconcerting. When Billy asked what he was looking at, he'd offered him an earbud, which Billy had refused. Hughie shrugged.

Billy got the distinctly aggravating feeling that Hughie was waiting for him to leave. It was only for that reason he didn't.

\---

Until he did.

Even Billy Butcher needed a piss sometimes.

Along with his jacket and phone, he left his strap behind and in hindsight, it's obvious why.

He reckoned he… wanted to see if he'd try. Hughie. Better to know, than live in suspense. Not that at the time he'd thought he actually would. Not Hughie. He's a fucking fighter. A scrappy cunt, that one. Looks soft, but he ain't, not really. It was going to be hard now, but the kid would pull through. He'd done it before, blew up a fucking supe and washed the entrails out of his hair an hour later like a champ. The kid wouldn't do it.

But, you can never be too sure.

Butcher knew this.

He came back to the room to see Hughie with the gun in his mouth. 

It was like a frame from a black comedy sketch. They both froze, Hughie's eyes widened momentarily, the tinny crooning of old pop from the earbuds that lay muffled on the bed punctuated the thick silence below it, and Butcher raised his hands, his heart was in his stomach and still dropping, and without hesitation, before Butcher could even try to do _anything-_

_Click._

Clip was empty.

He almost heard the studio audience in his head breath a sigh of relief until _that_ feeling was gone and replaced by-

He took two large and furious steps to him and yanked the gun out of his hand.

" _What in all fucking hell was that for?_ " 

Billy wasn't shaking but it was a close thing.

Hughie began trying to speak, for real this time, looking a lot more like his usual self; slightly indignant but mostly hapless. Like he hadn't just tried to eat a bullet.

"Look, jeez. That was. That was dumb- a mistake, thank God nothing was in it, right? I knew that. I only wanted to- Can we forget-"

" _Forget about it?"_ Butcher yelled even louder. A couple of harsh breaths, then he muttered "Fuck me," throwing the hand holding the gun in the air and beginning to pace.

"Yes," Hughie pleaded. "Let's forget about it."

" _I can't you fucking bastard. I can't. You tried, and I've only gone and seen it with my own two fucking eyes."_ He was waving the gun around, almost looking like he wanted to shoot Hughie himself, gesturing wildly as he ranted. "You little fucker- do you even- that is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever seen you attempt, _and you've tried some real_ _shockers,_ _mate_. What were you _thinking_? No, I don't want to know. I don't want to fucking know what you were thinking. Because- You little-" He cut himself off, heaving.

"Fuck me sideways," he whispered again, when he was done.

Hughie's mouth twitched. "Sorry, Billy, you're um. You're not my type."

" _Fucking comedian now, are we_!" 

His attempt to calm himself was immediately discarded and forgotten about. He felt slightly ill at the joke.

" _Not fucking funny! Not fucking funny, you absolute fucking cunt!"_ He cursed a passionate, and somehow filthier string of words, so angry that he thought he might actually commit murder in a hospital.

He wouldn't be able to explain the level of fury he was experiencing at that moment, except through a vague sense of entitled betrayal. And every second that Hughie looked at him with that guiltily stunned expression only bought him further over the boiling point. What was truly fueling the anger was his own- no, he's not thinking about that. He recognised that look too, on someone else, but right now he was refusing to think about him too. This was about _Hughie being a fucking-_

_"_ Is there a problem here?"

_Weakling._

Weakling? He stopped himself there, stunned.

The sweaty nurse took in the situation silently, a big dark bearded man waving a gun in the air about while a battered patient watched. Studio laughter.

She turned away, definitely about to call for security when Hughie immediately moved to reassure her,

_No please don't, I know him. He's a friend, just over-protective… Yeah I know-_

Billy watched his mouth open and close to form words, not really hearing what he was saying, just looking, as the kid tried to get him out of trouble. 

_For what,_ he thought bitterly. An old thought, a feeling, that he was surprised had chosen now to resurface. He shouldn't have been. Apparently Lenny was haunting him today.

\--

Later that night, a few minutes before Frenchie, MM and Kimiko were due to walk up to the reception asking after a suspicious looking british guy, Hughie broke an hours long silence from underneath the covers.

"I'm pretty sure it's not your fault. In case that's what you're thinking."

Billy almost laughed.

What wasn't his fault? Exactly?

His brutal rape at the hands of America's sweetheart?That he'd become a murderer? That he'd gotten into this entire shitshow in the first place? 

That he'd just tried to fucking top himself?

Billy thought back to how he'd left him, and with the gun to do it.

Thought further back to getting the call that his baby brother had died while he was gone.

"Maybe," he sighed, just so he'd shut up and go to sleep.

\---

  
  


Billy never really left him alone again. Only once, long after the hospital.

Hughie seemed normal for a long time. Traumatised, of course, but that was par for the course. He still lit up at texts from Starlight, ate like crap, slept like it was a competitive sport and consumed classic music videos -lately it had been the same one- like it was crack. Hughie'd tried for weeks to cajole Kimiko into resuming learning her ABCs, but eventually gave up and tried picking up the signs. Quick learner, that kid. 

Butcher didn't comment at the way he'd getsured to Kimiko to pass him the instant mac and cheese. He'd only looked away for a moment (or was it a week?) and he was already holding minutes long conversations with her. Butcher didn't bother, mainly because he cared very little.

Had enough on his fucking plate trying to…

Trying to- to what?

The business with Capital B, didn't want- He didn't know why he kept plotting ways to get her to follow him. At this point they were nothing but mental excercises. That said, he didn't stop.

He kept seeing Terror. During one frustrating two hour visit, he'd tried teaching the stupid mongrel more tricks than just "Fuck it", but when that eventually devolved into him standing and pointing at the dog while shouting at it to "Just sit your arse on the fucking ground! It's not rocket science, you mong!", he decided that Terror is great just as he is. Dogs don't need to be Albert fucking Einstien. And, old dogs, new tricks, etcetera.

But he never went anywhere, without knowing the kid wouldn't be on his own. It wasn't usually a problem since Frenchie hardly ever left the basement, but on those rare occasions that he went off to see Morticia Addams, Billy would suddenly find that he had nothing better to do than watch Channel 4 all night.

If Hughie thought he was being watched he didn't let on. He sometimes seemed to enjoy the company.

Billy was starting to think that maybe, Hughie had managed to wash his hair of it all, once again. Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

\---

"Billy, listen. I was thinking, maybe we ought to send the kid home. Back to his dad."

MM says it casually. No- pragmatically. Leaning against the counter, watching as Billy adds another plate to a rapidly growing pile. Butcher almost finds the tone offensive.

"No," he says, not bothering to think about it.

"He's-"

"Fine." Billy growls. "He's fine." _Let him be fine._

"He's not fine. He's losing it. Politely, sure. But still losing it."

Billy strains to think if he ever let slip what happened that night at the hospital. Or what precisely landed him there. He knows Hughie didn't say anything himself, and no- Billy definitely didn't either.

"And what is the basis of this analysis, doctor, sir?" Billy throws the question over his shoulder as he exits the kitchen area, in a way that makes it clear that he's stopped taking the conversation seriously.

"Years working with fucked up kids," MM replies, in a way that makes it clear he's only letting it go for now. Billy then hears mutinous muttering float over to his ears, as the water starts running. _So MM does the dishes,_ Billy absently realises.

-

 _Frenchie_ brings it up independently of MM a few weeks later.

"Maybe we should have petit Hughie go home for a couple of days."

Billy pauses in shrugging on his jacket, completely taken aback. Fucking _Frenchie?_ Since when has he ever paid real attention to any animated being who wasn't Kimiko?

"Am I the only one who hasn't forgotten that _petit Hughie_ is a fugitive from the fucking law?"

Frenchie shrugs, pulls his goggles back over his eyes and fires up the blowtorch, focusing on whatever godforsaken creation he's working on.

"They won't be looking for him there anymore," Frenchie says offhandedly. "I can still sweep the place for-"

Billy slams the door.

"-surveillance."

  
  


A month later, Kimiko tries to get his attention the moment Hughie shuts the door of his "bedroom" behind him, and with an exasperated groan, Billy decides an immediate visit to Terror is of the utmost fucking importance.

\---  
  


"You've decided that you need Hughie, more than Hughie needs… Anything that ain't this." 

MM points this out solemnly and out of nowhere, right in front of the kid. Yeah, he's got those earbuds in, but still.

"No," Butcher denies unnecessarily to thin air.

It's been five minutes since MM made his astute bloody observation only to be met with silence, and has since fucked off somewhere. Probably spotted a dusty surface, the absolute crackpot.

"What?" Hughie asks, pulling an earphone out, looking up.

Billy looks at him distractedly then, and is momentarily stunned. 

He _is_ a kid.

"Nothing."

He don't look it sometimes, but he is still a kid. Billy doesn't _need him_. It's the other fucking way around. 

"Wait."

Hughie huffs and looks up again, and Billy feels inexplicably sorry. 

Sorry? For what, now? Fucking, what now? He _thought_ he had already established everything he had to feel guilty about where Hughie was concerned, and compartmentalised it in that drawer where he keeps everything else that's unproductive to think about. Clearly bloody not.

"You're alright, aren't you, kid?" It's a hesitant attempt at _something,_ even though it doesn't come out that way. Doesn't even really sound like a question at all.

"Yeah, I'm cool. Coolio."

"Sure about that?" Billy insists, and at this, Hughie looks somewhat surprised. He takes out the other earbud.

"What's up?"

"I'm asking you, mate."

"Nothing's up on my end. Now your turn."

"Something is. Or everyone thinks there is. Not sure what. Or even if. Can't tell. Maybe nothing's fucking _up_ at all." He was obviously talking about Hughie still, but if the kid understood that, he didn't let on.

"Sounds complicated," Hughie nodded slowly. He didn't _look-_ fuck's sake. He seemed fine. He seemed like always. "You'll figure it out, I bet."

"What?" This from Billy.

Hughie considers him, maybe wondering if he wants to say anything at all. Then he groans, and pushes on, "You're- You're brave. Always able to force your way through. Find the quickest way to solve things. The simple way. I-" he sighs, "admire that. Or something."

"Or something," Billy repeats, nonplussed.

Hughie mutters under his breath, then stands to leave, "It's late, I need to sleep."

"It is?" It's another question that comes out like a statement.

"Yeah. Look, Billy. You should try as well. You barely sleep anymore. I mean, you didn't much before, but now you're exhausted, and it shows. Everyone's worried for you."

Billy stares dumbly as Hughie nods a goodnight and disappears back into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Billy wants to shout.

_Worried for_ me! Me! _Worried for me. Jesus fucking Christ. He either has no fucking idea what the others think, or he's purposely trying to irritate me._

He doesn't really know which one is worse.

\--

Billy, contrary to popular belief, isn't much of a drinker- never really found the time to properly cultivate a habit, though he's had plenty of cause- but that night he has a few. If just to encourage a bit of shut eye, for once.

\--

\--

Much, much later, Billy will think about that awkward exchange and wonder if it was Hughie's attempt at telling him something. He'll try to persuade himself that there's no bloody point in trying to decipher deeper meanings from half remembered words (like he's sitting his english literature O-level all over again), especially not _after_ the fact. It'll still keep him up at night.

He'll think, if Lenny was present for that damn conversation, he would have known. He would have fucking known.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking hell, writing multi chapter works is labourious as fuck. Im not cut out for it. But i cant let it go 💀 gonna take it to the end, im predicting four chapters all together, one of them being tiny, if ur reading this have a great week dear, i hope this is the one where u come into a lot of money
> 
> Edit:  
> I am once again asking for you to mind the tags


	3. Chapter 3

With a terrible…  _ Terrible,  _ clarity, Billy knows what's happened. Knows it as soon as he sees that limp hand hanging loosely off the arm of the sofa.

It's all he can see. The world narrows in, all at once.

\---

\---

And the worst part is? It wasn't even necessary. There was no apocalyptic plot that needed everyone to go save the world and one person to stay behind, watch the basement. No fatal emergency. Not even a fucking little one.

Frenchie had gone to get his cock wet, and Billy wanted to pet his dog.

Nothing had changed except… Nothing. Nothing had changed. It had been more months, and he was getting frustrated. There were no changes in behaviour for Hughie, and Billy was suddenly damn sick of acting like a nanny for a grown man. 

(Later, Kimiko would point out in a rare display of vitriol, somehow made worse by the flat delivery of Frenchie's translation, that Billy is a fucking hypocrite. When it suits, Hughie's a child, when it doesn't, he's not. Says other things as well. Or rather, gesticulates wildly. Frenchie apologises for her too a while after.)

He was bored to his bones of the news cycle, and that night, he made a snap decision. To trust or not to trust. He decided to trust. Because he wanted to go see his dog, Jesus Christ, nothing wrong with that. He had gotten way too familiar with the blonde whore on his screen, and someone might think he actually  _ cared  _ to know whatever was going on in the heads of american political commentators. 

And he missed his fucking dog.

He stood decisively, pulled on his jacket and nodded to Hughie at the door. 

"You going to be alright?"

And Hughie, he didn't look up from his slumped position on the sofa, but raised a high thumbs up in confirmation. "You know me."

(When he said that, did he sound tired? Can't have been, he'd just woken up. But now Billy thinks he did. Thinks that that was how he always sounded.)

"Alright. Good."

He shut the door behind him, barely hearing the "have fun" that floated out after him.

\---

\---

"Ah."

( _ the quickest way to solve-) _

If he could be aware that he'd made that noise, Billy would also be glad that no one is there to hear him gape like a fish. Like an idiot. But he isn't, because all he's really percieving, is that hand.

He takes an awkward step towards the sofa, the only thing obscuring his full view of Hughie, and he's thankful that it is, but it doesn't stop him from taking another faulty step.

( _ the simple way out) _

Then his body goes on auto-pilot, and he strides around, quickly, to make sure. Because. He could just be asle-

"Ah." He gags on it.

\---

\---

Lenny was alive, and then he wasn't, and then Billy was saying words at his funeral.

This however, goes awfully slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fondly*
> 
> Ah billy. What a ~~retard~~ special kid.


End file.
